


The Gambler

by na_shao



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tennis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rivals, Sports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-13 03:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21487366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/na_shao
Summary: Rivals and lovers on the same tour: that's what Loki and Thor are. Raised at the same famous tennis academy during their teenage years under Loki's dad scrutiny, they end up on tour as enemies, best friends, rivals, and sometimes lovers. Everything seems to be the same for more than a decade — exchanging the number one place, fucking, being angry at each other, supporting each other — until that rhythm is broken when Thor gets in a car crash and almost loses his right knee. Then begins rehabilitation, therapy, and a new path for Thor and Loki to walk on where feelings spark harder than they have in years.
Relationships: Loki/Thor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37
Collections: Thorki Big Bang 2019





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rivals and lovers on the same tour: that's what Loki and Thor are. Raised at the same famous tennis academy during their teenage years under Loki's dad scrutiny, they end up on tour as enemies, best friends, rivals, and sometimes lovers. Everything seems to be the same for more than a decade — exchanging the number one place, fucking, being angry at each other, supporting each other — until that rhythm is broken when Thor gets in a car crash and almost loses his right knee. Then begins rehabilitation, therapy, and a new path for Thor and Loki to walk on where feelings spark harder than they have in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, at last!
> 
> I'm so relieved this is seeing the light of the day. It was a long labor of love, with many obstacles and difficulties but I'm so glad to be part of the Thorki Big Bang!!
> 
> A huge thanks to my wonderful artist [Estivate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate) who was a delight to work with and who produced beautiful, gorgeous moodboards that captured the essence of this story so well. Thank you so much, Liz! <3
> 
> Another huge thanks goes to my love who has held my hand through it all and pushed me to keep going with this story even when I was unsure. Thank you, baby <3

It’s a fucking mess.

Thor can barely see past his tears and the movement all around him when he comes back to himself, still strapped to his seat, somewhere, as his brain begins to process again.

The seatbelt across him feels tight, so tight, tighter than before. And his knee. God.

His knee is on fire, split open.

“Sif?” Thor says, tears in his voice. _ Please don’t be dead. _

All he knows is that it hurts; it hurts so much that he screams in pain, and suddenly Sif is near him, murmuring words to his ear and shouting at other people.

A drunk driver, probably. The car came out of fucking nowhere.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Sif says, frantic, as she fishes out her phone from her jacket pocket.

Lights. Nighttime. The stars bursting out of the sky like diamonds. His headache. 

And now, Thor’s knee is busted, unable to move and respond except for some excruciating pain.

Glass litters the ground around Sif’s feet, and Thor cries, screams harder.

“My career is over,” he hisses in agony, and Sif brushes away his tears as she calls 911 and cries on the phone for _ someone, please, someone to come. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to comment if you liked it!
> 
> Catch me on twitter @ spreadtheashes ! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [Liz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate) for the gorgeous moodboard! :D

Loki sees Thor for the first time when Thor has been at the hospital for a week. Bloodshot eyes and a deep, dark cynicism bordering on despair bathe his lips with such fierceness that Loki sheds tears on his way home, the first night he is back in New York.

He had never known a Thor like this.

Even at the worst, he still showed sunshine—but this time, it’s different. It isn’t a tennis-related injury; it’s a car crash.

He will walk again, but his knee has been shattered.

Seeing Thor like this, so brittle, infused with anger and so little concern for his own life is upsetting at best, terrifying and nerve-wracking at worst. He refuses to be touched by anyone except Loki, but that doesn’t make Loki happy in the least. He could never be happy that his—_best friend? Part-time lover? Ex? _ can only accept his presence because they were together at some point—and yet, Thor doesn’t exactly accept him as anything other than a friend. 

Sif can’t even hug Thor when she goes to see him, she tells Loki over dinner one evening after Loki’s first visit. Her eyes are dark and glimmering ever so slightly in the dim, orange light of the restaurant they’re sitting at.

“He lost something far bigger with this injury,” she says under her breath, obviously upset—it’s not very often that someone sees her like this, but she figures that Loki, Thor's rival and closest friend will not mind. It isn’t like she can control it right now. “He’s—well. You don’t need to be drawn a picture. He will never be the same. Can’t even—engage in benign chatter, these days.”

“I know,” Loki replies, voice low.

A look. Her lips tighten in a straight line that hurts to see.

Definitely very rare to see Sif at a loss for words, Loki thinks.

There is a knowing look shared between them for a second. The same sense of loss is felt.

“I feel like I failed him, Loki. Maybe I was too hard on him? Thinking he could handle everything? Not telling him how much he means to... to the whole world but mostly _ to me?_”

She quiets for a moment, lost in her growing anger and distress as she absentmindedly curls her fingers around her glass of wine.

“Sif,” Loki says quietly, pain seeping out of his voice, "please. What happened happened. You can’t spend your time dwelling on it. It only makes him angrier to be reminded of it, so go ahead if you really want to piss him off, but I would advise you to move on.”

God, _ what a hypocrite. _

She gazes at him with heavy eyes, sighs and looks away. Silence takes over for a while until her voice drags out of her mouth in a quiet, tired tone.

“How do you do it?”

Loki arches a long, black eyebrow as he takes a sip of water. “How do I do what?”

“Stay so...” and she waves her hands in the air, looking for words to describe the feeling, her silver fork reflecting the tinted brightness. “So… put together? Does that come with your mental training?”

There’s a soft, empty laugh escaping Loki’s mouth, the sound brushing through his throat. “Doesn’t it come with yours, either?”

_Move away. Deflect._ Nobody ever sees Loki’s headspace. He makes sure of it, because there’s a war here, a battlefield, and nobody should have to look at this mess except himself. There is a perpetual taste of self-hatred on his tongue, laced with the heaviest of guilt.

Thor had peered inside a few times.

Thor only. 

“Do you ever let anyone inside, Loki? For all that you’re friendly and warm, it seems like you’re very lonely.”

Loki drops his gaze to the side and looks at the night sky lazing past by the tall window on his right. It is quite a sight, this sky darker than coal, only highlighted by clouds in various states of dissolution.

A forced smile curls upon Loki’s dry lips. 

He peers up at Sif with sharp, watchful eyes and lifts a hand to rest his chin upon it. “Let’s say… that it’s quite difficult to strike meaningful relationships with other people with the life I lead.”

“You also seem to be a very talented liar,” Sif says. 

She pushes her glasses back up on her nose, fixes her deep stare on Loki’s face, flushed yellow with the room’s lighting. “I am actually surprised you never tried to come and work here with us.”

“Abandoning my career to be under my dad’s supervision? God, you really don’t know me at all,” Loki chuckles darkly. “No offense, Sif, but my life happened and still happens on tour.”

Loki finds himself busy watching the wind dissolve the soft, gray clouds into darkness outside and melt them to careless void. 

“I don’t like holding back when I am talking with someone, which I’m sure you’ve noticed in the few years we’ve known each other,” Sif puts forth. “I just find it strange that I, being a coach, can find time to marry and spend days with my wife, while you cannot find yourself in a steady relationship.”

“You sound very concerned tonight, Sif," Loki grins darkly. "Maybe you should have been as sharp and solicitous on the matter of Thor's injury.”

There is a whole ocean tangled in Loki's throat. Maybe he should have, too. But now is not the time for pity or guilt—it’s time to take action and help Thor.

Damn it, Sif is awfully good at this, reading people and understanding everything they aren’t telling her, but Loki isn’t used to backing down in front of figures of authority—oh, the trouble at Academy, in his younger years, and the dark glances thrown at him in the corridors of locker rooms these days.

Harsh. Selfish. Easily annoyed. Perfectionist. 

That’s how everyone sees Loki Laufeyson, even himself.

Loki looks at Sif evenly, calmly, and his eyes are unfamiliar, cold, distant. 

“Hmm. Fair enough,” Sif murmurs. “Still. Do you think you would have handled the situation any better, Loki?”

_ Here it goes. _

Loki lets out a little sour smirk again. His lungs burn more than usual.

“I wouldn’t have tried to push my own player to his limits to begin with,” he answers bitterly, unable to contain the acid leaking on his tongue. “But what do I know? I am but a mere player myself who sees the reality of things and people on tour. Nothing compared to everything that you must know, Sif.”

Poisoning, tantalising. That’s all Loki is interested in giving Sif right now, under this spot of orange light falling on them. He stares up at her with his stormy eyes, this downpour of emerald fury.

Sif holds his stare. 

Loki prides himself on being reliable despite being selfish. He’s someone people can rely on no matter what, but he certainly can’t _ not _ throw anything back when attacked, be it by Thor’s coach or his mother, Frigga, during training sessions, or by a fellow player.

The thing is, there are times where Loki doesn’t get angry in a particularly loud fashion—not the way that’s expected of him, for instance. He does scream and does get agitated when rubbed the wrong way, and it feels like it worsens things as people would rather see him go berserk. Not getting this sort of reaction from him makes Sif even more annoyed. 

She wants to break the frost that has seeped into Loki’s voice in a million tiny pieces until there’s nothing but thin sand left.

Perhaps Sif has been too straightforward; that’s her way of interacting, and while she appreciates Loki, Thor’s situation reverberates inside her skull on an everyday basis and taints everything she is supposed to do like venom. It’s starting to feel like a true poison of the mind regarding all the things piled up on her desk and in her brain. 

There is also the fact that she has never been able to truly read Thor on the “Loki matter” as Brunnhilde and her have named it, and it drives Sif crazy not to know.

Maybe she’s nosy, but she doesn’t exactly care. It hasn’t been unusual for Thor to be secretive about his love life, though Sif had a few peeks at it during their time at the Academy (a young man, once; another that he brought as a date for dinner with Sif and her then-girlfriend, now wife). When Sif saw him come back from losing Wimbledon a year into his professional adult career with eyes haunted with love, she knew something had definitely changed within him.

That year, Thor had lost the finale to Loki. Thor’s eyes, though, hadn’t lied: his disappointment hadn’t been because of the loss—a little, possibly—but because of love tied around his neck. 

It got worse when she met Loki again, who was visiting Thor in New York a few months into 2010. 

“Definitely has always been Thor’s type,” she commented to Brunnhilde as she was sipping her tea while reviewing documents for the Academy. 

“Since when does he have a type? He never shows up with anyone on his arm, darling. Or maybe “void” is a specific type for you, now?”

Brunnhilde threw Sif a smirk and pet the cat purring in her lap.

“Don’t play coy with me, babe,” Sif mumbled. “Poor Laufeyson though, fooling himself.”

“You can be so heartless, my love,” Brunnhilde retorted. “I am pretty sure that our dear Thor is under his spell but struggles to even understand his feelings.”

And damn had she been right.

“I don’t think Thor ever forgot about you, you know.”

Loki focuses back and looks at Sif. 

“And I don’t think I want to talk about this, you know,” Loki bites out, thick and heavy. “There are much heavier topics to discuss at the moment, like Thor’s health, maybe?”

“Isn’t it what we are currently discussing? I think he needs you for every step he’s going to take as soon as he can stand. Needs you entirely.”

Loki’s gaze darts back to the woman in front of him, eyes wide with indignant surprise. 

“Why the hell do you care about such insignificant details when there’s so much at hand already? It’s not about me, Sif, it’s about him—”

“Of course it’s about _ him_,” she cuts in, exasperated. “You’re definitely thicker than I remember you to be, Laufeyson.”

“Oh, excuse me for being dense, then, but I don’t exactly see the point in bringing my love life into this! It’s not the place or time!” Loki yells.

It’s his turn to get exasperated. God, he hates raising his voice, but Sif is going too far right now, and maybe he has just admitted that there is still something on his side, something that has never faltered, but—

Fuck this.

_ if you don’t talk about it, you can pretend that it doesn’t exist. _

An addiction to adrenaline in place of a heart, everyone says on tour. _ Silvertongue_, they call him, and nothing more. Nothing else, either. 

He would have been happy with Loki burying his feelings, but instead he is stuck with a broken heart that will not mend. Hopelessly waiting for a man as changeable as the autumn wind, bringing as much happiness as it does bitter chill.

* * *

_ “Advantage Odinson.” _

_ Loki grits his teeth. He’s tempted to throw his racquet to the ground in a fit of rage like everyone expects him to do, but he contains himself and stares at Thor serving instead. _

_ “I can beat him,” he says to himself. He throws a look at Frigga in the audience and she smiles, raising a thumb at him. _

_ They battle it out for a while, Thor winning the first and second set before Loki wins the third and fourth. It will be five sets in the end and Loki’s legs are cramping like hell. _

_ “Looks like Laufeyson is cramping up and asking for the doctor,” McEnroe comments on TV. “Or is it one of his tricks to make Odinson feel bad for him?” _

_ He smirks behind his microphone. It’s well-known that McEnroe has a soft spot for Loki because their game, as well as their temper, is so similar. He’s just mocking him gently. _

_ Loki lets the doctor massage his cramped legs and sighs. He looks around and sees Thor still on the court, hitting a few balls before he goes to his bench and drinks from his numerous bottles, some with green and blue hues. _

_Biting into a banana, Thor throws a look at Loki who’s on the floor with a towel underneath him and smiles. It’s the kind of smile that says, “I’m going to beat your sorry ass.” _

_ And indeed, Thor beats him, easy and proper. 6-0. An absolute humiliation for Loki who, all cramped up, is unable to do much during this last set. _

_ He cries out of frustration in the locker rooms while Thor savors the victory on the court, all smiles and happy gestures to his team and fans. That week, Thor wins the US Open, and Loki throws a vase at the wall of his living room. _

_ Later that day, they fuck in Thor’s hotel room and Loki is vengeful, annoyed, full of pleasure. A contradiction. _

_ He doesn’t care and thrusts harder into Thor’s body. _

_ “Fuck you, Odinson,” he breathes out. _

* * *

“Did she bother you the whole evening?”

“Come on Thor, be nice,” Loki grumbles as he brushes Thor’s hair off his forehead and presses a kiss to Thor’s cheek. “We just... talked.”

No need to tell Thor about any of the things they discussed. 

“It’s never just chit chat with Sif,” Thor mumbles back. “It’s never significant if it’s not about tennis.”

"She asked about us. Pointedly. She thinks I should be with you for your recovery,” Loki says.

Thor swallows. "Do you want to be together? Officially."  
  
Loki bites his lower lip. "I don't know."

Everything is a mess. Loki doesn’t know if being “official” would make things worse, or better. He’d rather not try anything in the meantime.

Silence.

“Loki?”

Loki turns his head to look at Thor and frowns when he sees Thor wince.

“Thor?” comes Loki’s worried voice. “Is it your head again?”

Thor sighs, pulling away from Loki. “I think you should leave,” he manages to breathe out. “‘M tired.”

Loki knows better than to ask, ignores the strain in the other man’s voice. Nods; takes his leave because there is nothing he can do when Thor falls into the night of his mind.

Instead of collapsing face first on his bed in his hotel room, Loki decides that going to Thor’s apartment is, somehow, the best thing to do.

Turns out that finding himself in the infamous bedroom where they had sex so many times gives Loki the worst nausea he has had in years.

With Thor in the hospital, everything is intact, if dusty. Loki had only been there for a few days a few years back, but he can still remember the whiff of these different scents and the juxtaposition of furniture and books.

Loki is lucky to find out he has reflexes when the nausea comes.

* * *

_ “I think I’d _ reallyyyyyy _ like to suck your cock, Loki,” is how everything starts again on a fresh July evening after Thor’s loss to Loki at Wimbledon. _

_ The London air is cold, that night, and Loki keeps telling himself he shouldn’t be celebrating his own victory with Thor. _

_ A flash of a grin and perfect, white teeth. _ What an asshole, _ Loki thinks to himself, staring at the way Thor’s hair glows in light of the team kitchen. _Fucking gorgeous asshole, though.

_ “Nothing and nobody’s stopping you,” comes Loki’s reply and he wants to wipe away Thor’s smug grin as much as he wants to pin him against the wall and drop to his knees to have the huge thing hiding in his pants. _

You are so gross, Loki, _he ends up telling himself as he inhales deeply, _but who fucking cares, really?

_ Loki really could kiss him all night long. _

_ God, that asshole is very, very good at this. _

_ The minute Thor’s lips leave his, Loki pulls Thor back to him and kisses him long and proper again. His fingers rest on Thor’s neck where they seem to fit so perfectly, the flushed coral pink of his mouth finding grace upon his own. _

_ “Why are we doing this again?” Loki asks suddenly. _

_ “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Thor answers and kisses Loki again. _

_///_

_ God, Thor parts his lips for Loki’s cock so fucking easily. Loki gasps when Thor’s tongue flicks across the tip of his cock and hands trail down his stomach before his fingers set on the meat of Loki’s upper thigh. _

_///_

_ “Hmm, Thor, so bossy,” Loki mumbles against Thor’s lips as he rocks his hips in rhythm. Everything is slow and it feels so good, so— _

So right.

_ Like nothing else has ever been as _ right _ in Loki’s life as Thor pressing his fingers against the nape of Loki’s neck, hard and sharp. _

_ There are shivers running down his spine at Thor’s sweet kisses, at the way he curls around his body without a word; it’s a dizzying feeling, really, something he shouldn’t be given so freely. _

_ A mouth at his jaw. _

_ Loki has always been weak to the feeling of fake love. _

//

_ "What happened to your hair, by the way?" Thor asks, putting his shirt on again later on. “You didn’t even text.” _

_ Loki rolls his eyes. _

You didn’t even text. Why would I text you about this?

_ "Cut it, as you can see. Easier to manage. Especially when the Australian Open comes up and the heat drives me crazy." _

_ "A shame," Thor murmurs, micmicking sadness, "it was easier to pull on your hair to fuck you deeper. I miss it. Plus, the Australian Open is months away." _

So that’s the only thing you miss, huh.

_ Loki smiles bitterly. "What a loss." _

_ He remembers. _

_ Remembers the first time he touched Thor and Thor touched him back; Loki knew—knew that Thor’s body would haunt his in the embrace of their tender, sometimes desperate lovemaking. _

_ He remembers their tangled locks washed by the sun and the growing grayness of the upset sky as Loki kissed within an inch of his life before traveling down to his navel, slipping between his thighs, when his strong tongue slid inside the rose-wet heat of this beautiful boy— _

_ ”Loki, fuck,” Thor had panted, retreating his hands, previously in Loki’s hair, back to his face, hiding his crippling blush and shame, “fuck—” _

_ A kiss on the inside of a creamy thigh and Loki lifted his head a little to speak, “You don’t have to hide.” _

_ They were fifteen and hungry for love. _

* * *

Loki smiles gently at him and lifts his hand toward Thor’s face the next morning. Thor flinches, expression evaporating to fear, then mere guilt for not being able to enjoy it.

“Easy,” Loki murmurs kindly as he stops in his tracks, “it’s alright, Thor. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He licks his lips, appearing to be so sorry it makes Thor ache. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts in a voice so small the silence of the hospital room almost sounds deafening. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, Loki.”

“No, please, that’s not what I meant,” and Loki moves a little closer, sitting next to Thor but careful to have enough distance between them to let him breathe. “I would never think you are ungrateful. Of course not.”

_ God, he is so sincere, so open, _ Thor thinks, tears stuck at the back of his throat, eyes burning. _ So gentle. That— _

_ That is so nice. But I don’t deserve it. _

“I should be the one feeling bad, you see,” Thor sighs heavily as he closes his eyes and rubs at his nose. “I should have talked to you instead of shutting down.”

Lifting a hand, Loki strokes his cheek, sighs. This tenderness, _ dear god. _ Thor doesn’t deserve it, not when he’s fucked Loki over so many times.

“You did nothing wrong.” 

“That’s not true,” Thor says. “I hurt you.”

Loki licks his lips. “I should be the one apologising, not you. Here, have some water.”

Something about Loki makes Thor a little nervous: Loki has been so reluctantly honest, lately, and Thor doesn’t know how to handle that. Silvertongue is Loki’s nickname for a reason that Thor knows best: Loki manipulates words, makes them pretty and easy when he thinks none of them.

But maybe… maybe Loki let the honesty win, this time, and pushed his silver tongue to the back of his throat.

Thor grasps the glass tightly between his hands when Loki hands it to him.

“I’m not sure, either,” Thor starts. “Whether to make things official or not. Maybe we should wait.”

Loki looks down at his lap and nods. “We should. Things are really messy right now. You should focus on recovering, not on the media. They will make a big fuss about us being together, I’m pretty sure of it.”

Thor chuckles. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Loki asks, surprised. “You’re not one for scandals.”

“It wouldn’t be a _ scandal_,” Thor says before he drinks some more water. “Just a little annoying, but not a scandal. Remember when Gasquet came out? _ That _ was a scandal all over the place.”

Loki smiles, baring his little white teeth. “Oh, it was. Christ, it was such a mess. Glad he’s still with Benneteau, though.” 

Thor laces his hands on his stomach and looks up at Loki, features soft, suddenly. “They’re even married. That’s amazing.”

He doesn’t know what he really feels. He wants the world to know that Loki and him are… something, but it’s too soon, too raw, too tense. Things need to settle down before Thor can even announce it. He needs to come back.

They need to wait.

Silence takes over them and Thor finds himself basking in it before Loki speaks up.

“I made you breakfast,” Loki says, and _ that smile _ again, lord. Thor thinks he is growing very quickly attached to it, this etched part of Loki’s personality, the softness of it all after going through so much. “But don’t tell the nurses.”

“It’s—Loki, you didn’t have to,” Thor croaks, emotion warm in his belly and straining in his throat. “You should be back to training, not taking care of me.”

There is a sense of shame creeping up Thor’s back, and so he looks anywhere but at Loki, focusing instead on the large framed picture above the wall in front of him. 

Just trees and abstract colours splattered everywhere. It reminds him of Wimbledon and green and white.

“Well,” Loki says, “it’s season break. I don’t have anything else to do anyway.”

Thor chuckles. “So you found a new activity and it’s being a nurse? Sexy.”

Loki laughs, shaking his head, and sets to get the content of his bag out. Thor lifts his eyes up at him again, taking in his shape and figure.

_ There is darkness in there, too. Lots of stained memories and unresolved poison that still drips through his veins. _

_ I guess he’s just—good at hiding it. As always. _

Tentatively, Thor reaches out for what Loki brought—fruits, pancakes—the mild light of the morning catching the veins of his pale hands.

Soon enough, a white and green Starbucks cup settles next to Thor’s breakfast. 

“Also got you tea,” Loki grins a little. “Black tea latte, as usual. Did you sleep well?”

It’s something Thor has not been good at, lately.

Too many nightmares. The accident. The scars on his hands. The fractured knee. The pain. The medication. 

Everything. 

“You’re okay,” he says softly. 

That voice. The heat of breath on the side of his throat. Thor shivers a little, presses back again and feels a slender, solid body stretched behind his, feels an arm curling around his waist.

Loki cups Thor’s face when he turns around and leans forward to press his lips against his brow, leaving a soft kiss there.

“I promise you’re okay,” Loki says again, keeping Thor tightly curled around him, fingers digging into his skin. Not possessive, but rather a sinking man trying to keep his head out of the water. “I’ll make sure you’re back on your feet in no time.”

Thor sighs heavily. “Don't do this. No promises, we said.”

“What else do I have?” Loki says, eyes hard. “I have nothing else to offer. Take it or leave it.”

Loki brushes a thumb over Thor’s cheekbone, slides down a little to kiss him with all that he has, handing him his heart on a silver platter with no regrets. 

Thor’s answer comes a little later after they have kissed for what feels like an eternity; a dull, resigned “alright.”

Thor lies there limp against Loki and waits for the vertigo to pass. He cranes his head and sees that Loki is looking down at him, eyes thrown into shadow, just the faintest glint of light. 

Waiting.

“It’s okay not to be okay. Allow yourself to let go so you can get up.”

Loki lowers himself, presses himself along Thor’s side, strokes his hand over his chest and up to his neck, his cheek again. Loki grazes his lips down his jaw. He can feel Thor’s pulse, his heart—frantic.

Thor stares into Loki’s emerald eyes and squeezes his hand, hard.

There are moments in life that are sharper than any other.

“Promise me, Thor.”

“I promise, Loki,” Thor says, and dives in for another kiss.

* * *

_ The thickness of Thor’s cock fills Loki’s mouth completely until he's tearing up, trying to breathe around it, saliva dripping down his chin; until he chokes. _

_ “Hey, Loki, you okay?” Thor manages to scrape out with pleasure thickening his voice, concern showing up on the tip of his tongue. “You—god, fuck—you look—” and he has to stop yet again in order to swallow, swiping Loki’s black hair away from his face, “—overwhelmed?” _

_ Why the fuck is he getting emotional while blowing Thor, for the fucking love of God? _

_ Loki’s stomach flips. _

_ Fuck. _

_ Fuck fuck fuck— _

_ He’s liking Thor way too much for his own good. _

_ Shock courses through his body—an instance of love. _

_ It’s too much for his brain all at once, too much fizzy liquid in his veins. _

_ Loki looks at Thor through his long, clear eyelashes, still heavy with unshed tears—much like morning dew—as he sucks on the tip, tongue bumping against Thor’s slit. _

_ His fingers gripping into his soft, pliant flesh, tangling them, then, in Loki’s dark curls that breathe mischief as deep heat races down his spine. _

* * *

“Thor?”

Thor jerks his head up abruptly, eyes alert. 

Hunted. Always. It will take him a long, long time to heal from the mental wounds of this car accident.

(The media have already titled it: _ “Thor Odinson: the end of his career?” _ and Loki hates it.)

Thor doesn't say anything in fear of losing this; this moment, him—_ Loki _—and his easy, gentle ways that make Thor feel warmth, make him see what he could have had if—

If there hadn’t been so many obstacles between them. 

He had been thinking while curled up in the blankets.

About his aging spine.

About the blue rays of moonlight coming out of the black sky outside as the night went on under the soft snore of stars.

About the increasing hope that the growing light of dawn would not bring the itch of reality back along with his scarred body.

Thor wants it; wants Loki. Like before, in so many ways. 

Talking to Loki like before, like crossing bridges, like the mess of questions marking his skin.

Another memory insists and bursts against his temples.

_ Remember how Loki touched you and made love to you and left you to rot to feelings he didn’t want to return? _

As if Thor hadn’t done the same.

A breeze slips in, cools his blood. Thor realises he has been staring at the other man for a while without replying.

“Sorry,” he says, a little dazed, a little out of it. The window is open, and the air smells vaguely of damp asphalt and soaked leaves.

Thor feels detached, as if looking at himself from another point of view, drowning in freezing water and hardly feeling anything—a numbing kind of cold that goes right through his bones, licks at the darkest thoughts occupying his body.

There is something forced in the way Thor’s lips try to curl into a smile, about the way he folds his hands over and over again on his lap, leaving red marks upon his pale skin as a reminder of the repeated gesture. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Loki says softly, the handsome lines in his face growing deeper as he smiles. “Want more pancakes? Eggs?”

It’s a sentence as simple as this one that gets to Thor: the fact that Loki is willing to brush away his fears so kindly (nothing like _ shut up, don’t be sorry, stop this, you are annoying _as his dad would do) and understanding enough so that he doesn’t have to explain the rather difficult things inhabiting his brain.

And for that, he feels almost grateful to have had this accident, if only because he met Loki again along the way.

“I am okay for now,” Thor replies, just as soft, regaining control upon the lost parts of himself. He notices the restraint put upon the vague shaking of Loki’s hand, frowns. “Is—” he tries, sucks in a quick breath, and Loki looks up at Thor with interest. “Is everything alright, Loki?”

A chuckle. 

“Do you think it is?” 

Loki lets out a long sigh and Thor suddenly feels very stupid. 

“Look, there’s something we need to talk about,” Loki says and licks his lips, looking away.

Thor has a bad feeling about this. Irrational fear and panic start creeping up his back, so similar to the minutes before the car crash happened. 

“What... is it?”

* * *

Thor tells him that he’s scared.

The polychrome needles are still wired into the meager skin of the inside of his arms when Thor turns his dark, blank stare to Loki sitting on the side in a chair.

“Loki,” comes his voice, thorny but trembling at the edges, crumbling slightly. 

Cracked.

Barely an intake of breath and Loki’s eyes are on him right away, sharp and focused; razor-edged, attentive. 

“Thor?”

Heartbeat drumming in his temples. 

“Loki,” Thor repeats. “Loki, I fucked up. I’m so scared that everything is over for me.”

Loki frowns. “The other driver did. Not you.”

“I shouldn’t have gone to that fucking dinner,” and Thor groans, and he hates it, feeling like words are escaping his mouth with no barrier, in a flow, fluid yet bumping against the back of his teeth. _ Jumbled. _

Puzzle pieces of sorts, scattered, barely recovered, not in the right order.

_ Breathe. _

Loki waits.

“Loki,” Thor eventually says again as he closes his eyes in an attempt to focus. “I don’t know if I will be able to play ever again.”

Loki doesn’t let himself show any kind of surprise or even the barest emotion as Thor stares intently at him with his lips chewed raw and face that bears a thousand years of exhaustion.

“Do you even care?” Thor spits.

“Who do you take me for?” Loki asks angrily sitting up further into his chair and staring into his face. “Of course you will pursue your career. How in hell do you think your dad did it after his 1984 injury?”

Thor has no patience these days, no filter, nothing to hold him back in his speech because of his fucked-up brain and low pain tolerance.

Thor burns quickly. “I am in no shape,” he almost snaps, which ends up in Loki losing his smile. “I can’t possibly do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Loki says, still angry. “You can do it.”

“Loki, I can’t do this, I’m scared!” Thor shouts, biting.

“In case you weren’t able to tell the difference,” Loki says, just the side of firm, brushing it away and burying the whole matter under a wave of hands and fingers. “I do care. And yes, I know all of that.”

Thor does look so different, with his hair dangerously longer than his usual cut and his pale skin that makes him look like a wax figure that belongs in a museum, except for the scarred complexion and sparks of bruises. 

“Anyway, not the bloody point. Yes, you’ll get back on tour. I’ll make sure of it.”

That seems to calm Thor down, strangely, the bite in Loki’s voice. 

“You have too much faith in me,” Thor says, almost defeated.

“I do, and you should have some faith in yourself, too, you idiot.”

“I think you know more than you let on,” Thor mutters, a suspicious glance thrown at Loki. “Can’t be sure, though. Fucking brain won’t function properly.” A sharp laugh; the taste of bitter coffee and a caustic punch to the guts. “Don’t play games with me, not when I—not when I’m like _ this. _”

_ Like this; so damaged, incapable, fucking defective. _

His headache has reappeared, and everything feels like a distant memory. He’s so tired.

“You think me so cruel that I would play with you for my sole entertainment? Fuck’s sake, Thor, you’re my closest friend, _ of course _ I believe in you.” 

Loki shouldn’t grow irritated, but he’s far from being perfect and being mistrusted and stared at with such skepticism and growing doubts by Thor, of all people, makes hurt bloom wildly in his ribcage. 

“Yes, you are in a bad shape right now. Yes, you look like shit. And yes, once and for all, you will be back on tour. End of it. _ Next _.”

A distant look, and a long breath. 

“Fuck, Loki,” Thor says.

“Stop it,” Loki answers. “Stop it. Don’t damage yourself any further.”

It’s in Loki’s nature to be frank and go straight to the point, and he won’t back down just to spare Thor’s feelings.

Thor keeps staring; his lips are trembling as he speaks. “How do I do it, then? What am I supposed to do? I can’t… can’t do it—”

It resonates in Loki’s skull for a moment; _ how do you do it, Layfeyson? Does it come with your training? _

“It isn’t easy,” Loki starts as he allows the shadows to come back to him, to engulf him in an old, familiar embrace, “but you’ll manage. You should know that, Thor. You had injuries before.”

Thor’s face falls. “But it’s not the same, Loki! What if it’s _ too hard? _ What if—what if you’re too tired to even _ stand? _ How am I supposed to handle _ three hour matches _ like that?”

“Then you stay down. There’s no shame in lying low for a while.”

That, Thor didn’t expect at all. He wonders if Loki is trying to crack a joke or lighten the mood, but his face is far from being joyful.

“People think that one’s goal in life is to keep standing, no matter what; to never stumble and be steady, but that is definitely _ not _ how life works.” 

Loki pauses, lost in thought for a moment as he chews the inside of his lower lip and looks away. 

“You always end up falling, one way or another. What’s important is how you get back up because once you do, that’s what you will remember. You will obviously remember falling, too, but what matters is that you rose again. And of course it’s exhausting to do that over and over again, however… there are things pushing you forward, may it be going on out of spite or finding relief in anything important to you. I live with something inside to survive.”

Thor is relieved that there is no pity. All of Loki’s words come from the very core of a man who seems to have seen it all, or at least so much, and it’s comforting, somehow, to be able to perceive the light at the end of the tunnel.

Thor might give up but getting back up is also possible.

Thor bites his lip, mumbles something Loki cannot catch, too low and raspy. “I’ve been so depressed, though.” A pause. Searching throughout vague memories, broken synapses and connections. “I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Therapy,” Loki says, turning his eyes back on Thor.

Thor rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Stubborn as always,” Loki says as he rolls his eyes back at him. “I’ll get you on the list for therapy here.”

“I don’t want therapy,” Thor groans.

“You might not want it, but you need it, and _ I’m _ putting you on that list.”

“_I don’t want therapy,_” Thor repeats, staring harshly at Loki. 

It dawns on Loki, at that moment, that Thor is definitely _ different. _To what extent, he doesn’t know.

All that he knows is that it hurts.

But it’s a quiet, dull kind of hurt. The one where the ache is subtle but present at every turn, showing up at every corner. Never hidden but easy to dismiss.

Replaced.

Moving on.

Back in motion.

It occurs to Loki that he's supposed to answer.

“I see.”

Thor’s eyebrows crease slightly. Loki’s words sound so bland—however, it has always been difficult to really see into Loki’s behaviour, his deep, personal emotions and not just the ones shown to the face of the earth. 

Thor holds his breath for a moment; Loki is still staring at him, eyes blank, but always sharp. Waiting. 

“I—”and he sighs heavily, closes his eyes, reopens them. “Look, Loki. I appreciate that you’re trying to help. I really do. I’m sorry if I’m rough, I’m just—I’m tired. Exhausted beyond words.”

“I know. But you’ll be okay,” Loki says, gentle.

Suddenly, Loki surprises himself, and he’s smiling this trademark smile of his, that gentle curl of lips, that soft heat. 

It brings scraps of memories back to Thor, the warmth of a kiss in the damp locker rooms, the hot press of fingers along his jaw after a press conference, the graze of freezing rain that tangles locks of hair together in the most improbable shapes after training.

Thor leaving Loki alone in England. Words scattered and thrown at each other to hurt.

Their breakup. 

* * *

_“We were still under construction, weren’t we? Though I should have known you weren’t willing to put the first brick in, Thor,” Loki says, sobbing._

_ The tears are falling freely from Loki’s emerald eyes, but so are they from Thor’s, to his surprise. He can’t speak, can’t add anything, but he’s crying. It’s wrong to do this to Loki; it’s so wrong— _

_ Yet. _

_ Yet, that’s the only solution. _

_ He cannot involve himself any further. Cannot allow his feelings to keep growing and anchor himself to him. They wouldn’t work. It won’t work, that’s what he has been telling himself since they met. It won’t work, and we’ll need to part ways sooner or later. We’re barely good together and it’s not enough. _

_ Sooner or later became two years, streets of clouds over London and New York. _

///

_ Loki wanders through London while crying for hours and it gives him nausea, or that’s what he tells himself to tame down the desperation and agony that have been inhabiting him for hours, now. _

_ And if he finds himself standing a few steps away from the front door of Angela’s flat, it’s a very fortunate occurrence, and nothing else. _

_ He can handle it on his own. _

_He simply—_

_ Misses his sister. _

_ That’s what it is, right? _

_ Funny, then, that knocking on the door takes him every ounce of energy left in his body—funny, then, that seeing his little brother’s face as he opens the door makes him tear up. _

_ “Loki? What are you doing here? Weren’t you with—Odinson?” _

_ In the stillness, behind closed eyes, Loki only hears himself breathe in short, destructured huffs, the air colourless while pumping in and out of him. _

_ “Didn’t expect your big brother to pay you a visit after all this time, uh?” he replies, trying to grasp the usual cheerfulness and sarcasm back in there—yet, his voice sounds distant, hollow. _

_ Angela’s eyebrows rise slightly before she frowns, the pale green of her eyes almost disappearing and only showing thanks to the dim light coming from the corridor’s lightbulb. _

_ His sister isn’t very good at handling emotions and reading other people’s feelings, but they do know each other—they do love each other, no matter the distance and frost that have grown between them; and if Angela doesn’t catch the lack of enthusiasm in Loki’s voice, she notices the trembling of his lips, the tense smell of whiskey in the air, the distinct sound of labored breathing that is held back on purpose. _

_ “It was stupid of me to come here, I’m so sorry,” Loki says with a tight smile, and slowly, it shatters. And he keeps going, despite the hiccups, despite the fact that he’s breaking apart. “I’m sorry, Angie, I—I shouldn’t have bothered you in the mi—middle of the night like this, don’t worry, I’m fine—” _

_ The next thing he knows, Angela is hugging him to his chest and Loki is still talking, trying his best at keeping a straight face while tears are eating at his cheeks. “I’m— f—fine, Angie, I’m—” _

_ “Loki, it’s alright—” _

_ “I’m fine! L—look, I’m perfectly f—ine—” _

_ Those unpleasant reminders burning away in his throat, constricting, Angela holding him, his face smushed in his little sister’s shirt and he’s so gross, fuck this, so ugly, so stupid, of course he’s fine, of course he’s fine, of course he’s _

_ f—i—n—e. _

_ He doesn’t really know how he gets inside Angela’s flat or how he ends up on the sofa clinging desperately to his sister while sobbing. _

_ He just knows that Angela stays up with him the whole night, makes him tea (still too hot, always too hot, but it’s a comforting kind of too hot, a soft memory of his baby sister that makes him cry even harder), wraps him up in a warm blanket as the rain falls outside and two of her cats hop on the sofa next to Loki to curl up there, framing him with gentle purrs and silky fur—there’s Ellie, a favourite of his that Angela had rescued as a baby and that Loki used to carry around in his sweaters before he went to the Academy full-time. _

_ It’s late morning when he eventually wakes up to a furry tail brushing his nose and kneading on his stomach, and Angela. _

_ His little sister, right there, perched on his favourite chair with his notebook and scattered pieces of paper on his lap, and a book propped up on the coffee table in front of him. _

_ His little sister taking care of him, holding the light for him, even after all this time. _

_ If Loki starts tearing up again, Angela pretends not to see it when she notices her older brother rubs his fingers over his eyes. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to comment if you liked it!
> 
> Catch me on twitter @ spreadtheashes ! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [Liz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate) for the beautiful moodboard! <3

Three weeks after his accident, Loki stumbles into Thor’s room with bags on his arms and a smile on his face.

“Thor?”

Thor glances at Loki from the doorway, and Loki’s heart clenches at the sight of his best friend looking like a lost kid. Thor gets up with difficulty, steps forward with crutches until he’s a foot away, near enough to touch, and he does. He takes a step closer and Loki doesn’t hesitate to kiss him, even more when Thor doesn’t back down and kisses back, a little rough, a little desperate. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Thor brings up his hand and pushes back his dark hair, tucking it behind an ear and brushing his cheek in the process.

“You’ve always been so distant,” Thor murmurs, “what does _ this _ mean?”

He runs his thumb across his skin until he's touching Loki’s mouth, pushing a little on the bottom lip. 

There’s a limp little whimper. 

Thor‘s finger lingers there.

Clinging to each other, they stay like this for a while, feeding off the other’s energy and gentle hum of warmth. Loki never answers his question, but it’s alright. Thor doesn’t want to break off this moment. 

_ God, it feels good to have this. To have something, at least. Something warm and precious that doesn’t get swept away like sand curling in the air with the force of winter winds. _

“The psychiatrist wants to see you,” Loki says quietly, chin settled on Thor’s head, his lover’s face smushed in the pink, flushed crook of his neck. “He’s ready.”

“Well, I’m not,” Thor says darkly.

Loki chuckles and caresses his hair gently, fondly exasperated. “You have no choice. Dr. Barnes is here.”

He leaves, door closing behind him.

“I think I love you,” Thor whispers helplessly in the quiet of the now empty room, eyes squeezing shut painfully.

* * *

“Mr. Odinson,” looms Dr. Barnes’ voice, circling the room; resonating, coloured by concern and something else that Thor doesn’t want to think about. 

Thor stands still in bed, eyes wide, staring straight into the whiskey dress of the psychiatrist’s irises, unable to reply as emotions overwhelm him.

There’s a strain curling in his throat and he feels so helpless.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Thor ends up saying, throat raw, tongue heavy, a chill traveling down his spine slowly. “Loki put me on the list but I don’t want therapy.”

Loki sighs and brushes Thor’s hand very softly, fleeting and ethereal before he moves away a little, smiles at Thor. 

“I will leave you to it,” he murmurs. 

Suddenly he’s out the door and there is only Dr. Barnes before Thor, Thor’s hand still curled in the shape of Loki’ as if it were saying _ don’t leave me here alone, I am scared, I don’t want to fuck this up. _

Looking over at Thor’s face, Dr. Barnes sits in the chair near Thor’s bed with a notebook and a pen on the side.

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, Mr. Odinson.” He pauses, arches an eyebrow. “Thor? What do you prefer?”

"Thor’s fine, I guess," Thor mumbles.

Dr. Barnes nods. Long, slow. He stares at Thor for a while with a scrutinizing eye, notices the new bandages peeking out from beneath the clean, warm sweater Loki has lent him—Thor looks so soft in it, in the sunburnt red and gold hues that highlight his sunless hair. He’s filling the entire amount of fabric but he doesn’t care if it’s too small because it smells like Loki.

“So, Thor. Tell me about the accident.”

Behind the door, Loki is listening. He shouldn't-—he has no right to intrude, especially on something that doesn't concern him.

He's a mere player, and Thor’s… Thor’s something. Best friend. Part-time lover. He shouldn't give in to such desires that reach for the most obscure parts of his soul; yet, yet he can't help wanting to hurt the drunkard who hit Thor beyond recognition; that's what he deserves. There’s no justice or equal treatment to spare; and he hates that he feels that way, ready to jump at his throat the moment he is discovered. But Loki is tired of pretending his years of experience in life makes him a better man. It doesn’t. Being a better version of himself came with responsibilities and loss, not this fake sensation of growth being pulled from his skull for going through hell.

"I don't remember everything. He—" Loki hears, Thor’s voice breaking and trying to say the ineffable, "his car ran into mine. I remember things. Bits." 

A pause.

Loki turns around and sighs, slowly walking towards the coffee machine. 

* * *

Velvety heat rolls off Thor’s cheeks in waves. “Loki has been so kind to me, I still don’t get why,” and there is a pregnant pause, low and uncomfortable, until he spits the words out, jumbled. “The car ran into mine and crushed everything including my knee. I’m fucked. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” 

So much shame stitched together with his flesh like a quilt, a pattern heavy and warm to be buried in; Thor, so human and frail.

His hands curl into tight, white fists. 

“That piece of shit fucked up my career, I can’t believe this, I was back and good and ready.”

“How does that make you feel?” Dr. Barnes asks.

Thor sees red. 

“I’m angry, can’t you see?” he spits.

The psychiatrist nods. “But I needed to hear you say it.”

“Whatever,” Thor says, dismissive. “I’m angry. Exhausted. In pain. I don’t want this life.”

“Do you happen to have suicidal ideation?” Dr. Barnes asks, putting his notes down on his knees

Thor’s eyes catch the large drops of rain splashing against the windows. “Yeah,” he says.

Dr. Barnes’ hands fold in his lap. “Have you ever been prescribed medication for anxiety?”

Thor frowns. “No. Why?”

“Just asking. I need to understand your medical and mental past.”

“I don’t need you,” Thor says. He notices the ring on the man’s hand. “Your wife does. Or other patients. Not me.”

Dr. Barnes chuckles. “My husband hardly ever needs me, he’s very independent, you see.” He clears his throat. “You don’t have to answer my questions. We can talk about anything you’d like.”

“So you have a husband?” Thor asks. He doesn’t particularly care but he can do small talk if that makes him escape the questions about his mental health.

“I do. Name’s Steve. Do you have anyone in your life, Thor?”

Thor’s mouth opens, then closes suddenly.

The only name that comes to mind is _Loki_.

Loki, always. Always him and forever, he figures. He won’t leave him alone.

_ What the hell are we? _

“No one,” Thor says.

Silence insues until Dr. Barnes raises an eyebrow.

“Mr. Laufeyson sure does sound like more than a friend.”

“Oh, right,” Thor grins, “that’s because he’s my _ best _ friend. Also, this isn’t something I want to talk about. Let’s drop the topic. Does your husband cook?”

_ Focus, run and avoid. Just like you would do with a tennis ball and an opponent. _

“He does. Do you cook?”

Thor looks at the window outside. “In my spare time, which means almost never,” he says absently. 

“Maybe that could help with your mental health,” Dr. Barnes says. “Try it out. Some of my patients found it very therapeutic.”

“Dr. Barnes, I don’t mean to be rude but I’m a professional tennis player. I don’t have time for this.”

“You are recovering,” Dr. Barnes interjects. “To be the devil’s advocate, you don’t even know what’s ahead of you right now. Maybe try focusing.”

Thor’s mood gets even worse at that. He swallows the lump in his throat, shifts in his seat.

“Because you know better than I do, maybe? I haven’t said my last word regarding my career contrary to what most people are saying.”

“I never said you’d never play again. Only that you should take one day at a time.”

Thor sighs. “That’s not what you said.”

“You don’t want to hear what I have to say, Thor.”

That’s true. Thor wants nothing more than this appointment to be over because he doesn’t need therapy. He doesn’t want it. But Loki went ahead and made sure Thor couldn’t escape this step in his recovery.

He shuts up the never-ending monologue in his head.

“I don’t think I’m ready for therapy,” Thor finally admits, for once calm and focused, eyes fixed on his sheets. He crosses his arms. “I was forced to have this appointment, I didn’t choose it.”

“But you’ll have to admit that you need it,” Dr. Barnes says.

“Needing is one thing, but wanting is another,” Thor answers.

_ Do I need Loki, or do I want him? Is it both? _

* * *

_ “Fuck!” He slaps the tile wall. Whatever. He just lost in the second round of the Australian Open. _

_ The second fucking round. To Loki, again, and again. _

_ “Tough loss today,” a voice says behind him. _

_ “I don’t need your pity,” Thor replies, biting. “Go away, Loki.” _

_ Loki opens a bottle of shampoo next to him and lathers his long black hair. “You know, you should play more doubles. We could do that together. You remember how good we were, back at the Academy?” _

_ “Fuck off, Laufeyson,” Thor says. “Let me shower in peace.” _

_ Loki rinses the shampoo out of his hair and turns the water off, looking at Thor. _

_ “We could have some sort of truce for today, wouldn’t you like that? You lost, it’s sad, but I kinda wanna fuck.” _

_ Thor grunts. The nerve of his rival to come here and offer him a fuck after he lost to him— _

_ “Thor,” Loki murmurs against his ear, slipping a hand down and touching his cock. “Come on. Come to my room.” _

* * *

_ Later on, Thor is rocking his hips against the fingers opening him up, eyes blurry with pleasure, teeth worrying his lower lip. _ You’re a magnolia that blooms, honey, _ one of his previous partners told him, once, lips charged with sweet kisses and desire fumbling in their fingers. _

_ A flower that spreads, and through the light, its colours washed off and turning pastel-soft; half a blast of cold in the rush of sex, past the hour of the party they were supposed to go to and where Thor would have usually picked up a girl or a dude or anyone willing, really, and would have fucked their brains out, except _ he doesn’t want to fuck anyone else than Loki, hasn’t been wanting to for years _ and the thought scares the shit out of him. _

_ And then it’s all about his soft pink hole, the rim stretched taut around Loki’s thick cock; a wave of heat sparking up in the air, flourishing pink and white as a moan vibrates through his chest; and he’s clutching the sheets, asking for more, asking for more and more and more. _

_ There’s this fucking nervous lump that rose through his throat and hasn’t gone and it drives him crazy. _

_ It’s Laufeyson. _

_It’s _ Laufeyson _ and it’s getting on his nerves._

_Loki caresses the side of Thor’s face, worry etched in every line of his features before Loki ends up running his thumb along the swell of his bottom lip, as if tracing the outline in golden cursive with the utmost care. “Thor?”_

_ “Don’t _ touch _ me,” Thor barks, and he’s ghostly pale, so white it almost hurts to look at him. “It— this—fuck, this was a mistake.” _

_ It’s about his heart, caged in by bone, crystallised in frost and bad experiences; about his fear of letting someone else in, someone that isn’t his little brother, someone that can break what’s left of his heart. _

You are being so dramatic, Thor. Your heart is whole. Don’t play the angst teen when you are nothing but a scared grown-up, now. You just lost to your rival—best friend—lover. Move on.

_ He can feel the throb of a headache coming already—his breathing is labored, punctured, left hanging. His face scrunches up, contorting with the effort to make the pain recede. _

* * *

_ Maybe we can have our second chance. Maybe we will get it right one day, _ Loki tells himself. _ But now, now is too soon. _

Yes, definitely—

A long sigh that makes Loki’s head perk up and look back at the coffee machine.

_ Definitely love. _

And there is no accepting the idea; it’s already _ there. _

The warm heat of Loki’s heart, pounding skin to skin.

Memories bloom more clearly now, and there is this drumming noise in his head, still, something white and akin to interferences that murmur sweet void and empty promises to his ears. And after all these months of utter and complete silence of his heart, the music they had shared — their beating hearts, the soft whines and moans, the gentle hum of lips finding one another — eventually fills the air. 

Somehow, it all seems to be recalled to Loki’s mind; his years of loving Thor, of pretending his decision was rational and leaving him was for the best; his falling for Thor so easily; and enough room for both of them, equally, breathing right next to his heart—

_ Yes. _

And he’s scared beyond measure.

_ How long until he doesn’t accept my touches anymore? _

Back to the wall, Loki sighs. The smell of coffee whirls into the sterile air of the hospital.

_ What did you get yourself into, Loki? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to leave a comment if you liked this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> You can catch me on twitter @ spreadtheashes! :D


End file.
